Start from the beginning, click here!
Listen instead!
Sparkly trudged through thick, wet snow that turned to brown, slushy mud. She grumbled and groaned the whole way and by the time she reached a small town at the base of a tall mountain, she was thoroughly annoyed.
Wiping mud off her shoes, a futile task, Sparkly looked up at a rusty old sign swinging in the wind.
“Tinker Toy Town,” she mumbled. As she gazed around the small collection of buildings that looked more like a small outpost than a town, she caught sight of a gloomy looking tavern and trudged toward the inviting warm glow of the window.
She passed lean-tos with stacks of unopened gifts piled haphazardly to the ceiling. “What in the world is going on here?” she wondered aloud. “There must be 50 or more of these lean-tos all chock full of gifts.”
A deep voice boomed from the shadows. “Might want to ask Jingle McStockings about that.”
Startled, Sparkly spun around to face a large, wart covered creature that could easily have passed for an ogre were it not for his pointed ears.
“And, who are you?”
“I’m Groucho McFrost, resident of Tinker Toy Town.”
“Sparkly Sprinkles, lead reporter of the North Pole Gazette.”
“Reporter, eh? If it’s Jingle you’re after, he’ll be at the pub counting.”
“Counting?”
“Yeah, counting the gifts,” Groucho muttered. “Always counting gifts.”
With that, Groucho McFrost continued on toward the pub.
“Jingle McStockings? Groucho McFrost? What next, Stinky McPew?” Sparkly shook her head as she followed Groucho in search of Jingle McStockings.
She pulled open the pub door and entered a small room with three customers and a bartender. They all stopped talking and turned to face her as the icy gust of wind blew through the room.
“Ah,” said one of the customers. “A stranger arrives as was foretold by the spirits of the past who—.”
“Can it, Norm,” said another customer. “No one wants to hear your prophecy talk.”
Norm shrugged and turned back to his drink while the interrupting customer faced Sparkly and stared at her with suspicion. “Well? What do you want?”
Taken aback by his rude tone, but in no mood to pacify the man, Sparkly matched his tone. “I’m looking for three elves and a reindeer. Have you seen them?”
“No.”
“Ok,“ she said, undeterred. “Then what about Jingle McStockings. Have you seen him?”
“That recluse? He’s in the back room. Probably counting the presents again.” Rolling his eyes, the rude customer jerked his head toward the back of the pub and returned to his drink.
Sparkly headed toward the back , spying a small jolly looking man, pouring over what looked like a very long list.
“8 million and one, 8 million and two, 8 million and 3–”.
“Excuse me,” Sparkly interrupted, intrigued. “I’m Sparkly Sprinkles and I was wondering…well, are you Jingle McStockings?”
Jingle started, peering up at Sparkly with fear, or apprehension. “I am. Who wants to know?”
Sensing this man was not the trusting sort, Sparkly spoke in a gentle, friendly tone. “Well, I’m Sparkly Sprinkles and I’m looking for–.”
“I heard you ask Pete, but I haven’t seen any elves or reindeer. You’re the first stranger to come our way in a long while.”
Jingle tapped his fingers impatiently on his list.
“What is that?” asked Sparkly, curious.
At the note of interest in Sparkly’s tone, Jingle brightened immediately. “It’s my list.”
“List? Like Santa’s list?”
“Oh no. No, no, no, I would never presume to have a list like Santa’s. This is my list of presents I’ve collected over the years. Presents that have fallen from the sky.”
Presents from the sky? Was this elf serious? But then she remembered all the piles and piles of gifts she’d passed on her way to the pub. All still wrapped and waiting to be opened.
“How long have you been collecting these presents?”
“Oh, let’s see…years I suppose. Years and years.”
“And you’ve never opened them? Not even one?”
“Not even one,” he said with a small sad smile. “You see, a long, long time ago, when I was a wee elf, I’d written a letter to Santa asking for a gift I wanted more than anything. Christmas morning came, and they gift I’d asked for never came. I’m embarrassed to admit, I started to doubt that Santa was…real.” The last bit came out in a whisper.
“And now, you do believe?”
“Oh yes! You see, when the first gift fell from the sky, I just knew it was Santa trying to tell me he hadn’t forgotten about me afterall.”
“But, why didn’t you open it?”
“Well, the anticipation I suppose.”
Nonplussed, Sparkly stared in confusion at the little elf.
“Wondering what is inside, the excitement of it, that’s the real gift Santa has given me. I have my excitement for Christmas back and so I cherish each gift for that reason.”
Sparkly, the ruthless reporter she was, saw the potential news value in Jingle’s tale.
Hermit Elf Stashes Holiday Hoard…You won’t believe what’s inside!
But, something in the small elf’s expression told her that if she were to pursue this story, he would never recover from all the publicity. An unfamiliar and uncomfortable twinge of sympathy hit Sparkly as she sensed Jingles’ vulnerability.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you find your friends,” continued Jingle, oblivious to Sparkly’s discomfort.
“Yes, well. I don’t know if I would call them friends, but I do need to find them,” she said distractedly.
“Are they in some kind of trouble?” Jingle asked with a worried frown.
“Oh are they ever,” said Sparkly. She paced back and forth a few times, contemplating her next move.
“Right,” she said. “I’m going back to the North Pole, straight to Santa’s Workshop. If I can’t find the elves, I’ll question the big guy until he breaks.”
Jingle’s eyes widened and he scooted away from the intense elf.
With a determined glint in her eyes, Sparkly abruptly left the pub, making a mental note to come back someday and tell Jingle’s story. Nodding at Groucho as she passed through the bar, Sparkly stepped out into the cold and wind, and marched toward home with purpose gleaming in her eyes.
a pinch of homestead 